NotTheRock Musings

You know, it's funny how life works. Just yesterday, I was thinking about posting here (yes, yes, I know, it's about time, right?) and what I was thinking of writing about was how good my life is and how lucky I am. I have a terrific wife, a good job, a beautiful house and great friends. We have caring families and a happy little puppy. Life feels good.

And while the news we got last night isn't something that's crushing, it's still very sad for me. My parents' dog, Riley, an eleven-year-old Irish Setter, had to be put down yesterday. She'd been having serious disc problems and had become incontinent and unable to control her poops, too. She was leaving messes everywhere and the meds the vet prescribed for her back only made her more thirsty, which led to drinking more water, which led to more peeing. One wonders if maybe her kidneys were failing, too.

Riley was a purebred Irish Setter, whose mother was a show dog and whose father appeared in print ads for Brooks Brothers, among others. So she was of fancy stock. And she was a priss.

The previous Irish Setter my family had was Bridget. She was raised from a puppy to six years old by former neighbors of ours who, when they had their first child, decided they didn't want a big, goofy dog bounding around the house, so they gave her to my mom. Bridget was an old-fashioned work dog -- she was always eager to please and to serve her master. She had been hunting before and knew how to bring back prizes, usually birds, mice, etc. She was afraid of nothing and would eat anything.

Riley, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. She was a priss, as mentioned, and she was afraid of everything. From day 1 until she died, she almost had a heart attack whenever a vaccuum cleaner was even in the room, let alone turned on. I remember walking her in her early months and when a car or truck went by on the street, she about turned inside out trying to climb into my pocket. I've never seen a dog so afraid of a moving car. My current puppy runs towards them. Riley was afraid of new people, too. When my parents have their Super Bowl party, Riley would say upstairs and bark at the doorbell from a safe distance. Thanks, guard dog.

Riley also had the most sensitive stomach I've ever seen in a dog. Beef made her puke. And I mean, any semblance of beef. If she ate a piece of food that had some juices from a steak on it, she'd vomit within minutes. It was surreal. A large dog, a carnivore, who can't eat beef. She had to have very precise foods, otherwise she was sick or gassy.

But Riley was a gorgeous dog. Whereas Bridget, the previous one, was kind of rough around the edges, with lopsided eyes and improper dimensions for a purebred Setter, Riley was perfect and of show dog quality. She even had that prance that you see show dogs do when they run somewhere. Rarely was she in a full-out sprint -- she usually just pranced along in a very dignified, I'll-get-there-when-I-get-there-but-don't-want-to-muss-my-hair kind of way.

She was also one of the sweetest dogs you'd ever meet. From the very beginning, she was always so passive and well-behaved. Sure, that had something to do with her skittish nature, but she was just a doll. Where a lot of dogs growl if you interfere with their eating, Riley would simply back off, sit, and watch you, as if to say, "Well, okay, take what you need, but let me know when you're done so I can get back to it."

Funny thing was, though, despite being very sweet, we also often described her as "aloof." I don't think I ever got a single doggie kiss from her. Most dogs want to lick your face off. Not Riley. You could get right in her face and she'd close her mouth tightly and turn away, just like the girls I used to date. Prude.

She loved attention and contact, though, like so many dogs, and she'd purr like a gigantic cat when you scratched her chin. She liked nothing more than to lie on the floor in the room where any of us were watching TV. But it was funny when Riley decided it was time for bed -- she would just get up and head to the room she was sleeping in (either the laundry room at my parents' house or their bedroom at the beach house). And it was always kind of pointed, like, "Okay, I'm going to bed, see ya." No hesitation, just would get up as though she'd had enough waiting for the humans and she'd head to bed.

I remember once Riley stayed at my little house in NJ over New Year's, while my family was out of town, and she just loved bunking in at my place. Her bed was in my room and so she got to sleep at the foot of my bed. In the evenings, though, while I was watching TV, I let her hop up on the couch -- something she never got to do at my parents' house -- and snooze there. I remember how happy she seemed simply getting to be spoiled a little bit and being nearby one of her family members. As I said, she was never a licker or an overly hyper dog (after her puppy days, anyway) but she'd show her appreciation by nuzzling into you with her snout and doing that contented sigh and the purr I mentioned. She was huge, warm, loving and easygoing. Kind of like I strive to be.

You feel silly when you feel sadness and mourning for an animal -- and yet almost all of us do. They're a family member and a regular part of your life. We got Riley in the fall of 1997 -- I was in the midst of troubled times in college, unsure of whether I'd be going back to Purdue after dropping out after the spring '97 semester. My life has, obviously, changed so much since then and Riley's been there while I've grown up. It won't be the same at Christmas without her there, curiously tearing open our presents as she has done for years.

One of the great things about dogs is that they love you unconditionally -- it doesn't matter if you're in a bad mood or you're stinky or sweating or you've got bad gas. They love you the same anyway and just want to be near you. It's a great feeling and it's always so hard to let them go. My mom was crying a little when she told me about things and she said she felt like she'd kept her around too long because she was selfish and didn't want to let her go. Riley's tail hadn't been "up" in months -- it had been curled under her, probably in pain because of her disc issues, for a long time.

The hardest part about putting a dog down is when they're like Riley -- still sweet, still loving, still nuzzling. Too often their bodies give out long before their heart and capacity to love do -- and so you feel like you're putting down a life that still has more to give. The truth, though, was that the most humane thing to do for Riley at this point was to let her go chase tennis balls where her back doesn't hurt anymore.

She gave us eleven terrific years and, for that, I am very thankful.